


No Harm, No Fowl

by The_Moss_Stomper



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Adventure, Chocobos, Developing Friendships, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Missions Gone Wrong, Pre-Game(s), Swearing, Turk-centric, Turkfic, Two Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-07 06:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5446070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Moss_Stomper/pseuds/The_Moss_Stomper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>President Shinra wants to give his son a rare white chocobo for his 18th birthday. The owner refuses to sell. The President makes it the Turks' problem. A young Reno is paired up with Turk rookie Rude, and the two are sent in to sort it out. What follows is an epic tale of bird vs. man, in which no one is left unscathed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Inauspicious Beginning

The old, battered truck shook and rattled along the bumpy country road. It was fortunate that no other vehicles were crossing the plains that night, for the driver paid only cursory attention to the road. His mind was occupied with a troubling mystery: when, and how, had he managed to infuriate a superior in his first two weeks at the job?

One of them had to be royally pissed off, that much was clear. It was the only explanation Rude could come up with for being saddled with not only this terrible joke of a mission, but also this terrible joke of a partner.

He glanced at his new colleague. The sight of that wild mop of hair was enough to make his scalp itch. His fingers twitched as he took in the wrinkled, ill-fitting suit and he was sure that if he were to stare at that hunched posture for too long, his own back would begin to ache in sympathy. When Rude had been informed that his initial training was over and he would be paired up with a more experienced Turk, the last thing he had expected was to end up with this hotheaded teenage slob.

Only a few years into his twenties, Rude was far from old, yet he found himself mentally referring to the other Turk as "the kid". The kid put three heaped spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee, then bounced off the walls for half an hour. The kid had the sense of humor of a six-year-old. The kid didn't know how to tie a tie – or so Rude assumed, as he had never seen one on Reno, despite it being a required part of the Turk uniform. He eyed the unbuttoned collar out of the corner of his eye, reaching up to check the neat knot of his own tie.

These were all details he could have overlooked if the kid had not also been too talkative, too loud and too rash, with a temper that matched his fiery red hair. Rude suspected that whoever had teamed them up was operating under the assumption that contrasting personalities complemented each other. He also suspected this person had never been trapped in a room with their own polar opposite.

Since the start of this mission, however, the younger man had been oddly quiet. Much to his vexation, Rude had found himself unable to enjoy the silence. An unacknowledged tension simmered just below the surface, making his shoulders tight and the back of his neck prickle.

It had been a very long drive.

"Is it meant to look like this?"

The question took Rude by surprise. After a few moments to switch mental gears, he raised his eyebrows, then realized Reno couldn't see the gesture in the dark.

"Hmm?"

"There's nothin' here," Reno said.

"It's the Grasslands."

"Shit."

Rude's brow knotted at the dismay permeating that single word. In the periphery of his vision, Reno's pale fingers flickered white against the dark fabric of the scruffy Turk suit, drumming an erratic beat on the kid's skinny thighs. A sideways glance informed him that the younger man was gnawing on his lip, too.

Fantastic. The redhead was restless at the best of times, but highly strung was definitely worse. Frayed nerves meant a shorter fuse, and Reno's was already too short for comfort.

Another glance at his colleague brought another curious detail to his attention. Reno spent more time with his eyes aimed up than straight ahead.

Scanning the horizons for threats or peeking over one's shoulder, that Rude could understand. Glancing straight up at the sky? What was the point of that? As he pondered whether Reno thought the chocobos would swoop down on them from above, it hit him. Of course. The speech and mannerisms, the brash attitude, the flashy hair – everything about Reno screamed slum kid from below plate.

Rude had carefully read through the intel on the target farm, on its neighbors, on the environment. In hindsight, he should have checked the facts on his new partner, too. Facts like how long the kid had been able to see the sky.

Well, better late than never. Rude took a deep breath to steel himself, then opened his mouth.

"First job outside the city?"

"Naw, man. I've been places."

Rude was not sure how to respond, so an awkward silence followed the dismissive answer. Maybe he should have mentioned the weather instead. That was the expected opener, wasn't it? Rude pondered this for a few moments, before dismissing the exercise as a waste of time. This was why he hated small talk. There were too many nebulous rules to follow, just so people could exchange empty platitudes.

Luckily, Reno piped up again of his own accord.

"First time in the middle of fuckin' nowhere, tho'. Who the hell holes up all the way out here?"

"Farmers."

Reno scoffed. Rude couldn't tell whether it was aimed at his choice of reply or the concept of farming itself. Both, probably.

The truck ride continued in silence, until a worrying possibility occurred to Rude.

"Have you _seen_ chocobos before?"

"Pff, 'course I have. 'Bos are cheaper than cars, even slum rats can afford 'em. Some of 'em anyway. Ain't always easy to get the greens to feed 'em under the plate, but it's still cheaper than fuel."

Rude considered this. Chocobos were a rare sight in the poorer districts in his hometown, but from what he had seen so far, the giant birds were ubiquitous on the Eastern Continent. It made sense that some of them would end up in the Midgar slums.

"Used to watch one as a kid, actually," Reno continued. "The guy who owned her ran a one-man taxi service under the plate and would pay a couple gil if I kept an eye on his bird while he grabbed a few drinks. He kept braggin' that she used to be a racer at Gold Saucer, but she sure didn't look it no more. Real old and skinny as hell, with a half her feathers missin'." He chuckled. "No one was gonna bother stealin' her, not even for eatin'. Easiest gig I ever had."

As he talked, the kid grew more relaxed. Rude had expected as much, considering Reno's evident love for his own voice. The odd thing was that he did the same.

"She was a nice bird, ol' Dodo," the redhead mumbled, staring out the window. "Shame what happened to her."

In the short time they had known each other, Rude had already discovered Reno's aggravating tendency to leave a story hanging. Apparently, this one was no exception.

"Well, what happened?" he finally asked.

"The carriage got caught in the crossfire of some gang fight in Sector 2. The guy made it. Dodo didn't. I heard the gang that won fed her to their dogs."

The kid's voice was indifferent, but the distant look in his eyes suggested something else. Rude shrugged off the odd compulsion to offer his condolences.

"Hey, look." Reno pointed, bringing Rude's attention to a small cluster of buildings that broke the monotony of the plains. "That the place?"

"Yeah."

According to plan, Rude pulled over a distance away so as to not disturb the farmers with the truck's engine or lights. He hopped down out of the driver's seat, taking care to push the door shut with as little sound as possible, then took a few moments to mentally prepare himself. It was difficult to focus, though, when the goal was utterly ridiculous.

The mission, in all its absurdity, was simple enough. Locate the farm, break into the stables, find the rare white chocobo and bring it back to Midgar unharmed. Birdnapping, in other words.

"Yeah, tell me 'bout it," Reno grumbled, and Rude realized he must have said the word out loud. "It's gotta be the dumbest thing I've heard. Don't let it get to ya, tho'. Unlike this dumbass job, most of the missions are 'bout huntin' bad guys and such. Y'know, shit that actually makes sense. Birdnappin' ain't exactly part of the job description, yo."

"Yet here we are?"

The redhead responded with a cynical chuckle, scratching the back of his neck.

"Yeah, well, every now and then one of the big bosses gets it in their head that us Turks are their personal lackeys. If it's someone like Palmer or Scarlet, you can politely tell 'em to fuck off, 'cause they don't have the authority to give us orders. When it's Heidegger, Veld can always try talkin' to the Prez. But, when it's old man Shinra himself... " Reno made a sour face and shook his head. "Eh, talkin' 'bout it ain't gonna get us nowhere. Let's get goin'."

The night was quiet and the full moon cast more than enough light for an easy trek to the farm, but the farther they got from the car, the more Reno glanced around. He was getting jumpier by the minute.

"Why would the old man wanna give Shinra Junior a chocobo, anyway?" Rude heard him mutter under his breath. "The hell's he gonna do with it? He's already got a pet hound and far as I know, he'll choose ridin' in somethin' with an engine over a 'bo any day. What a dumbass idea."

He considered asking Reno to kindly shut up, but suspected it would just make him worse. It was less trouble to just put up with it. The start of the action would be the end of the verbal flood, anyway.

The T-shaped farmhouse was dark and quiet. Most of the open space in front of it was given over to a large enclosure, the ground inside dug up and uneven. A more modest one was attached to the property's largest building, rectangular in shape with a rounded roof. The chocobo stable, Rude guessed.

The Turks hustled to the stable, forgoing the large main doors in favor of a smaller one on the side of the building. While Reno investigated the lock, Rude turned around to keep an eye on the farmhouse. Soon, he heard muttered curses behind his back. Instinctively he tensed his muscles, but the lack of urgency in the younger man's voice kept Rude at his post, instead opting for just a glance over his shoulder.

"Trouble?"

Reno straightened up, his face scrunched up with disdain.

"They didn't even lock the place up! Can this gig get any more borin'?"

He demonstrated with a small tug. The door swung open with a quiet creak, releasing a whiff of hay and animal musk. Rude craned his neck, peering in, but all he could see were wooden walls and a stone floor.

"C'mon, let's get inside," Reno urged.

Inside the stable, the air was warmer and thicker, and carried the sound of heavy breathing from several directions. When Reno closed the door, the creak caused a minor stir, setting off a round of shuffling and huffing noises.

The Turks had entered a small alcove of sorts, which cut a row of stalls in half. In the moonlight filtered through several windows, Rude could just make out a similar alcove on the opposite side, with a rack of equipment along the back wall instead of a door. The two formed a cross with the main aisle, dividing the stable's eight stalls into groups of two.

Now that the younger Turk had a roof over his head, he eased into his usual demeanor. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Reno ambled into the intersection and glanced down each end of the passage.

"'Kay, you take the left. I'll go right."

Each stall had a door that came up to Rude's chest, leaving the top third open. A cautious peek into the first one revealed a yellow chocobo curled up in a pile of straw, fast asleep. The second stall contained a green bird, sitting on its haunches and swaying its head around in a slow, drowsy fashion.

In the third stall on the opposite side of the aisle, a chocobo stood in the farthest corner, meeting Rude's gaze with an even stare. Its plumage shone pure white in the moonlight.

"Here," Rude called quietly to his partner.

His experience with chocobos was limited to races on TV and the couple of times he'd sat on one as a kid. The bird in question had been a young one, of a size better suited for children. Their target was supposed to be a juvenile as well, but this bird was twice as big as the one from his childhood. A tingle of apprehension settled in his gut as the white chocobo stared him down from its shadowy corner. It was easily a head taller than him, with legs that looked powerful enough to kick a man in two.

Reno sidled up, ignoring the avian death glare on his arrival in favor of the painted sign on the stall door. He mouthed the letters to himself before reading the word written on it out loud.

"Blanco, huh? Funny name."

"Not really. Means 'white'."

Blanco hadn't blinked even once, Rude was sure of it. Did chocobos blink at all?

"Oh, it's Costan, huh? That where you're from, right? Costa del Sol?"

"Yes."

"Been there once," Reno commented as he fetched a halter and rope from a rack in the doorless alcove. "Better than the fuckin' Grasslands, that's for sure. It's got people around, for one. And bars, lots of bars. Gotta have booze, yo."

Once the younger man had returned to Blanco's stall, he stopped for another look at the sign.

"Blanco," Reno repeated with a surprisingly accurate accent; thoughtfully, as if tasting the Costan flavor of the word. "All right, _Blanco_ , you're gettin' a change of scenery. Let's roll, birdie."

The bird hissed. To Rude, it sounded like the chocobo equivalent of a death threat.

"Hey, think you could teach me some Costan?" Reno asked, still unfazed by the bird's behavior. "Could use a few pickup lines, y'know. Tho' I got the message across last time with just–whoa!"

The moment the younger Turk had unlatched the stall door, the bird sprang into action. Reno spun aside just in time to avoid a trampling by clawed feet as the prized chocobo barged past them. Making a beeline for freedom, it knocked the stable door open and disappeared from sight.

"Shit!"

Reno set off after the fugitive. Aided by a burst of adrenaline, Rude was only a couple of seconds behind him. He stumbled through the door only to find the red-haired Turk locked in a staring match with the white bird, who had taken up a position by the far end of the barn.

"Gotta have fingers to open the gate on this fence thing," Reno explained, waving his hand toward the nearest wall of the enclosure. "Lucky us, huh?"

"Paddock."

"Huh?"

"It's called a paddock."

"Whatever," Reno groaned. "Thing is, both stable doors lead into it. Think you can sneak up on our bad boy through the main doors while I keep him distracted?"

Blanco glared at them both with an ill will intense enough to start fires. Rude swallowed.

"Yes," he said.

"Cool. Here, take this." Reno shoved the halter and rope in his face. "Now hurry up. Blanco boy ain't gonna stand still forever."

Rude took the gear and slunk back inside without a word. It wasn't as if he could say no. It wasn't as if he _wanted_ to say no. It was just a chocobo, for Odin's sake. A _chocobo_.

By the time he reached the end of the stable, his mouth had gone dry. Sneaking didn't come naturally to him, but Rude took special care to make as little sound as possible while he unlatched the main doors. Pushing one of them open just enough to peek out, he spotted the tail end of their target. Blanco was still trying to stare Reno to death.

Ever so slowly, Rude pushed the door farther, until he could slip his body through the opening. The rope was in a firm grip in one hand, the halter in the other. He wouldn't bother with the latter. As long as he could get the rope around the bird's neck and hold it still, Reno could take care of the halter.

He took a step closer, then another. He was sure the chocobo would hear his pulse racing out of control, but the bird stayed still. Rude took another step.

Blanco's head snapped around, fixing him with beady, malevolent eyes. Rude's stomach plummeted.

What happened next would forever be a blur in Rude's mind. There was hissing, then screeching, then screaming. That last sound might have been his own. There was some flailing on his part. Running, too. Definitely running. How he ended up back inside the stable, his ass planted on the cold stone floor and back pressed up against a wall – well, that part he wasn't so sure about.

Reno stood in front of him, his hands on his hips, gaping at him incredulously.

"Seriously? You ran away from a _giant chicken_?"

Rude wasn't about to dignify that with a reply. Mostly because he was too busy trying to catch his breath. Eventually, Reno huffed and threw up his arms.

"Whatever. C'mon, let's try again."

Oh, no. No way. Rude was not facing the demon chocobo of the Grasslands so soon again.

"Bad idea," he croaked.

"Why?"

Rude hesitated, racking his brain for a convincing argument.

"It's bigger than us."

Reno's glacial glare surpassed even Blanco's death gaze.

"You wanna go back to Veld and tell him we failed the mission 'cause a freakin' _bird_ was too scary for two of his Turks?"

His voice was like the calm before a storm. Rude had to admit that for a teenage brat, the kid could be pretty damned intimidating. He cleared his throat.

"The bird is smart. We have to be smarter."

Reno's eyes narrowed. Then, without warning, he slapped his forehead, bursting into laughter.

"Shit, of course! Chicks, man! Like, literally!"

Rude stared at the younger man's delighted expression, unable to find any sense in the exclamation.

"What?"

"C'mon, it's simple! Pretty girl bird shows up, guy bird goes gaga. We're gonna work with mother nature, buddy."

It took Rude a few moments to catch up with Reno's train of thought. When he did, it took all of his willpower not to plant his face in his palm.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah! All we gotta do is find some fine piece of 'bo tail, flaunt it by the door and Blanco boy's gonna come runnin' back. Easy as pie, yo."

"And if he won't?"

Reno rolled his eyes.

"'Course he will! Bird dudes wanna get laid too, right?"

Rude sighed, but he had no counter-argument to make. As far as he could tell, the kid knew more about chocobos than he did.

Reno grinned and skipped over to the neighboring stall door to peer at the sign.

"Here's a Daphne. Sounds like a girl to me."

Rude followed at a slower pace and peered in at the stall's inhabitant. It was a common yellow chocobo, about the same size as the target and just as keen to keep out of reach at the back of the stall. Unlike Blanco, however, this one seemed nervous, shifting its weight from foot to foot and clucking anxiously.

Reno wasn't deterred. He leaned over the stall door, holding out his hand to beckon the bird closer.

"Here, birdie. Come say hi, will ya?"

The chocobo took a step backwards and scraped at the straw on the floor with her claws.

"Don't think she likes you," Rude noted.

Reno chuckled, placing both hands on the top of the door so he could rest his chin on them.

"Nah, she's just a bit shy 'cause she don't know me." He fell silent for a few seconds, studying both the stall and the bird. "Right, let's try this. I'll open the door, and either catch her as she comes out or go in and get her. You stand by the stable door, make sure she won't run off in case she gets past me."

Rude nodded. Once he'd taken up his assigned position, Reno unlatched the stall door, working with slow, deliberate moves while keeping an eye on the bird inside.

Daphne was better behaved than her male neighbor. Rude could hear the sound of shuffled hay as she paced back and forth, warking repeatedly, but she stayed in the back of the stall while Reno opened the door. It wasn't until the Turk stepped inside that the chocobo gave an alarmed cry and bolted.

"We got a runner!"

After his warning, Reno made to grab her on her way past, but let out a surprised yelp and jumped back. Rude spread his arms, ready to act, but the chocobo didn't even try to flee outside. As she rounded the corner of her stall and darted into the alcove next to it, he saw what had startled his partner. Two balls of knee-high, blue fluff scurried after her on spindly legs, chirping in distress. By the wall, Daphne turned around and hunched down with a hiss, raising her wings, while the little ones tried to hide behind their mother's legs.

Reno strolled out of the stall, scratching the back of his head as he looked over the trio.

"Well, shit," he said with a sheepish laugh. "That ain't the kinda chicks I had in mind."

"Think it'll still work?"

Rude though it a perfectly reasonable question, but it seemed to catch his partner off guard. A strange look flitted across his features before he gave a half-hearted shrug.

"Uh... Dunno, really. Guess we can try."

Although Reno's earlier enthusiasm had evaporated, he quickly devised a plan to catch the female chocobo. Halter in hand, he would approach the alcove from the left, while Rude guarded the right side, preventing any escape attempt.

The start was promising. Rude moved first, and the chocobo reacted by shuffling over to the other side of the alcove. Reno approached without a sound, gliding across the floor like a shadow. The bird didn't notice him until he was close, too close for comfort. She danced to the side, warking in alarm, and Rude spread his arms to keep her put. Startled by his sudden move, she lunged, snapping at his left hand.

Reflexively, Rude leaped back before the pain struck and stumbled out of reach, letting loose an uncharacteristically long string of curses. He checked his hand, relieved to find all fingers intact. The beak had only caught a bit of skin off the forefinger, enough for a painful pinch, but not for lasting damage.

"C'mon, man, why'd ya have to go and call her names? She's just lookin' out for her babies like a good mama bird should, keepin' 'em safe from bad guys."

Rude gritted his teeth in utter disbelief. His foulmouthed so-called partner was defending the vicious creature that had just tried to bite off his fingers?

The bald man whipped his head up, ready to give his fellow Turk a piece of his mind, but the look on Reno's face made him pause. The redhead was frowning, his mouth set in a sad pout of reproach. Seeing the kid look like a kicked puppy was bad enough. Even worse was the twinge of remorse it stirred in Rude's chest.

"Then catch her yourself," he growled, irritated by both the bird and his own softhearted reaction.

Reno was quiet for a while, chewing on his bottom lip as he stared at the chocobos, the frown remaining on his face. The chicks chittered non-stop as they milled around their mother's legs, to which she responded with quiet warks – cautioning her brood, Rude thought, while she kept a wary eye on the humans. After a minute she let her guard down enough to lower her head, cooing softly while she stroked her little ones with the side of her beak.

"Ah, fuck it," Reno huffed. "I don't need Mama Bird. I got this."

He stalked toward the stable door, his shoulders squared and his jaw set.

Rude sighed. This would not end well.


	2. An Undignified End

At the far end of the enclosure stood a magnificent creature, plumage glowing silver in the moonlight. From the opposite corner, shrouded in black, a challenger stalked closer. Bird versus man, each holding the other's rapt attention.

Rude glanced at the farmhouse, vehemently hoping its inhabitants were heavy sleepers. Whatever form the duel between Reno and their target would take, it would not be silent.

Blanco made the first move. With a hiss the chocobo charged, straight for the red-haired Turk. Rude was not surprised by the speed with which Reno danced to the side. What he hadn't expected, however, was for the kid to grab hold of the bird and swing onto its back.

The chocobo warked and flapped its wings, flinging its head this way and that in a frantic effort to rid itself of its rider. Reno let out a steady stream of curses, clinging to the long neck with both arms wrapped around it. If it was an attempt to choke the bird out, it failed. Blanco hopped and bucked in a wild jig, until a sudden stop combined with a sharp twist flung the Turk off its back.

Reno somersaulted through the air, landing with a heavy thud a few feet away, barely avoiding the fence. Rude's heart skipped a beat, but his partner moved before he had a chance to. With a dazed look on his face, the kid raised himself by his elbows and shook his head. Then he sniffed once. Twice. Reno's nose wrinkled in disgust as he looked down, realizing he was lying in a pile of chocobo dung.

Blanco warked, prolonging the sound with an odd staccato. If Rude hadn't known better, he might have concluded the bird was laughing.

Unfortunately, Reno did not know better. A steely glint appeared in his eyes as he scowled at their target. The Turk picked himself off the ground with smooth, deliberate moves, focusing on the white chocobo with predatory zeal, and Rude knew he had to act fast.

"'Kay, new cover story," Reno seethed once Rude was within hearing range. "The farm was attacked by a huge motherfuckin' dragon. Everythin' burns down, crispy 'bo wings for all. Everybody fuckin' wins, yo."

"Dragon? Here?"

"The dumb fucker got lost, all right!?"

The kid had turned pink in the face, his nostrils flaring with every huffed breath. He glared at the bird with what Rude could only describe as unbridled hate. One wrong move, one wrong word and the younger Turk would explode like a firecracker of violence.

Rude pretended to consider the terrible plan, counting to ten in his head. Maybe the kid would be smart enough to do the same.

"Too messy."

"And this ain't?" Reno hissed. "I'm covered in goddamn bird shit!"

Rude gave the situation some more thought. Better to try a different tactic, he decided.

"You're camouflaged now. You can fool them."

Reno aimed his scowl at Rude. "Want me to shove  _you_  in it? 'Cause I fuckin' will, and then  _you_  can go fool 'em, all camo'd up!"

"Won't work without your hair."

"Huh? My hair?"

Rude nodded. "Need it for the disguise. Plumage, you know."

The younger Turk's eyes narrowed to slits, his hand inching closer to the pocket that held his mag rod.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" he asked slowly, emphasizing every word.

This was it, the point of no return. If Rude has misjudged the other Turk's character, the next words out of his mouth would provoke a sorry end to this mission, not to mention his own fledgling career.

"You're scrawny, too. Just like a tiny 'bo chick." Rude allowed himself a faint smile.

Two seconds ticked by in deathly silence. Then, Reno's jaw dropped.

"Holy shit. You  _are_  kidding me!" he crowed, his eyes lit up with delight. "I don't friggin' believe it. Baldy's got a sense of humor!"

Rude frowned. "Baldy?"

"Hey, you're the one who started talkin' trash 'bout my hair."

He supposed he couldn't deny that. And he did prefer the silly grin on Reno's face to the icy, homicidal glare, even when the latter was aimed elsewhere.

"So, are you up for it?" he asked.

The kid stopped his snickering, his eyebrows shooting up.

"Wait, you're actually serious 'bout this crazy-ass camo plan of yours?"

Rude nodded, the shadow of a smile still on his lips. Reno laughed.

"Eh, what the hell. How much worse can it get, right? I'll test it out on Mama Bird first, tho'. I've landed in enough shit for one night." Reno mussed up his hair, making the sorry mess stand up even more, and smoothed out the front of his filthy jacket. "Right, watch this. Mama Bird's gonna freakin' love me, yo."

The chocobo family was still where the Turks had left them. As soon as Reno moved towards the avian trio, Daphne dropped into a defensive stance again. He continued his casual saunter, but slowed to a halt in the middle of the intersection.

"Hey there, girl," he drawled in a low, soothing tone. "How you doin'? Bit of a wild night, huh?"

The chocobo lowered her wings a little, tilting her head to the side.

"A pretty bird like yourself shouldn't go wanderin' at night in a place like this, y'know." He raised an arm and presented his hand, palm upward. "Why dontcha come over here, eh? Let's have a lil' chat, get to know each other."

When Rude had signed up with Shinra, he had not expected to stand around watching a coworker sweet-talk chocobos on company time. The bald man suppressed a snort. This was what he had moved continents for, abandoning a promising boxing career in the process. Talk about regrettable life choices.

The bird seemed more appreciative of the redhead's efforts. Her wings were now folded against her body and the cautionary warks had quieted. When Reno took a slow step toward her, she hesitantly mimicked his actions.

"Yeah, that's it," Reno encouraged. "Don't worry 'bout my buddy Rude back there. He ain't gonna crash the party. It's just you and me, Mama Bird."

Rude felt a sudden urge to laugh. Or maybe cry. He wasn't sure which was more appropriate for the situation.

Another step brought the chocobo within reach of Reno's outstretched hand. Rude instinctively hid his fingers in tight fists. The bird sniffed at his partner's hand, then took another step to repeat the process with the spikes of red hair jutting up at the top of Reno's head. The man reached out and stroked the yellow plumage, and Rude released the breath he'd been holding.

"Who's a pretty bird?" Reno crooned, stroking the feathery neck. "You are, Mama Bird. Oh, yes, you are."

The chocobo cooed softly and lowered her head, rubbing her beak against the redhead's cheek. Reno snickered. No, Rude corrected himself with mild astonishment, not a snicker. That had been a bona fide giggle. The giant bird had made his cold-blooded Turk partner  _giggle_.

"Hey, Baldy, I think she likes me after all!"

Rude watched in fascination as a boyish grin formed on the other man's face. Until now, Reno seemed to have three modes only: hyperactive, indifferent or blind with rage. The switch between the three was jarring, often outright unnatural. Just days ago Rude had watched the younger man, face completely blank, put a gun to a man's head and pull the trigger. Two minutes later, Reno was chatting about office gossip and cracking jokes.

This mission had been different from the start, for reasons Rude could not fathom. Never would he have imagined to see the same Turk stroke a chocobo with such a happy smile on his face, like a boy with his pet puppy. While Rude could not quite understand the appeal of oversized chickens, it was a relief to see the kid show normal human reactions for once.

A loud screech pierced the idyllic scene. A blur of white feathers shot in through the stable doors and crashed into the redhead hard enough to send him flying. Blanco lunged after his quarry, but the female bird hissed and stepped in his way, raising her wings in a threatening display. Thwarted, the white chocobo let out a baffled squawk and scrambled to a halt.

While the two birds hissed and sized each other up, Reno lay flat on his back, blinking in confusion. The startled chocobo chicks flocked to him, trying to hide in his hair, but scattered when Rude rushed up and grabbed him. At the panicked chitters of her offspring, Daphne whipped her head around, and Rude hurried to drag his partner to a safer distance.

Blanco saw his chance. The next second was a blur: a frantic flapping of wings punctuated by a startled wail. Reno wriggled and pushed at Rude's arms, struggling to free himself.

"You see that?" he shrieked. "You see what that fucker did to Mama Bird?"

Rude hadn't, but the yellow feathers in Blanco's beak told the story well enough – along with the female chocobo's frightened cries as she fled out into the paddock.

Reno shoved Rude down as he leapt to his feet.

"That fuckin' does it! Birdbrain's goin'  _down_."

"Reno!"

Mag rod in hand, extended and fired up, the Turk lunged. Blanco was ready for his opponent, crest feathers puffed up and stubby wings spread wide. The bird's head shot out at lightning speed, striking like a snake, but Reno was faster. Instead of a beakful of Turk, Blanco received an electric shock straight to the head and went down like a sack of potatoes.

As the stable erupted in a chaotic din of warks all around them, Rude stared at the crumpled heap of prize chocobo, the smell of singed feathers and lightning filling his nostrils. A trail of smoke curled up from the bird's head and disappeared into thin air, much like his prospects of a Turk career. Deep inside his chest, an undeniable urge to strangle someone was taking form.

Reno stood over his defeated opponent, snapping his mag rod into its stowed state with condescending sneer. Then he caught the look on Rude's face and cocked an eyebrow.

"What? Birdbrain's still alive, yo. No harm, no foul." The redhead sniggered, shoving the mag rod into his pocket. "Heh... Fowl..."

Rude's fingers twitched.

"Reno," he said, raising his voice to be heard over the racket. "Do you know how much a chocobo weighs?"

"Oh, c'mon," the other man scoffed with a roll of his eyes. "How much can it be? Birds fly, y'know."

Rude took a slow, deep breath.

"Chocobos don't."

Reno paused.

"Oh. Oh, yeah." He looked down at the bird's feathered bulk, still twitching at his feet. "Fuck."

The redhead pushed a hand through his hair, a look of mild panic on his face.

"'Kay, so, shit happened, gotta roll with it. Looks to me like we gotta haul Birdbrain's feathery ass back to the truck somehow. Ideas?"

The redhead's determination and can-do attitude to the problem brought Rude's simmering ire down a notch or two. Maybe the kid was right. Maybe the mission could still be salvaged. Refocusing on the job, Rude looked around until his gaze landed on the rack of halters and ropes in the alcove.

"Use the ropes, maybe."

Reno considered it, nodding slowly.

"All right, let's go with that," he decided. "You rig somethin' up quick. I'll get Mama Bird."

Rude had begun moving to the rack, but stopped in his tracks and shot Reno an incredulous look over his shoulder.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously. I'll be back in a sec," the redhead promised, already on his way toward the side door.

"Reno! We need to leave."

Rude had to try, though it was likely to just earn him an order to shut up and do as he was told. The "kid" did outrank him, after all.

Reno paused in the doorway, looking back at Rude with a pleading look on his face.

"C'mon, man, I can't leave Mama Bird out there with her babies. There could be wolves and, uh... bigger wolves... Shit, I dunno what the fuck lives out here, but I bet loads of 'em think chocobos are walkin' dinners, yo."

Rude just stared, taken aback both by the offering of an explanation and by the explanation itself. Then, allowing himself an exasperated sigh, he gave a sharp nod.

"Just one sec," Reno repeated, taking off again.

Deciding it best to just concentrate on his task, Rude selected the longest piece of rope, about as thick as his thumb. It took more time than the bald man had hoped, but he managed to wriggle the rope in under Blanco's body and wedge it between the wings and the legs. With a sigh, he sat back on his heels and studied his handiwork. Rude had no clue about the proper way to truss up a live bird for transport. He could only hope the makeshift harness wouldn't strangle the damned thing.

The chocobos had calmed down a little, their warks no longer loud enough to trigger a migraine. He could faintly make out Reno's voice outside, mumbling sweet nothings to the rattled yellow chocobo. So far so good, much to Rude's amazement. If they could finish up quickly, they could still make it out undetected.

The rookie Turk got up to give Reno a hand, but froze as his gaze fell on a new source of light, visible through the open main door. A window on the second floor of the farmhouse had lit up. Rude bolted to the side door.

"Reno!" he hissed. "Lights!"

The redhead looked up in surprise, then snapped his head toward the house.

"Shit! 'Kay, Mama Bird, we gotta haul ass. Just come along with your pal Reno and we're all gonna be fine."

He took a step forward, reaching for the nervous chocobo. Rude could not believe his eyes.

"The mission's over! Let's go!"

Reno shook his head. "We still got this," he insisted in a calm voice, still soothing the bird as he sidled closer to her. "Get the big doors, put Birdbrain back where we found him, then hide."

Hide? Hide  _where_?

Yet Rude found himself following orders. He rushed back inside through the main stable doors, closed them behind him, then grabbed the rope and gave it a solid pull. The harness held, and he felt an incongruous tingle of pride as he dragged the unconscious bird across the stone floor toward its stall. Once inside, he nearly groaned out loud when he realized he would have to undo all his hard work. It could not be helped, however. With sullen tugs, he yanked the rope free.

Blanco lay sprawled on his side, legs wide and his head upside down, beak hanging open. To Rude, the bird looked more dead than alive. The sight would give the farmer a heart attack. Trying to recall the pose of the first yellow chocobo he had seen at the beginning of this misadventure, Rude began arranging the listless animal into the semblance of a napping bird.

Reno's cajoling had met with success at last, for while Rude worked, the other Turk and the birds entered the stables at a brisk jog. With one arm hooked around the base of the chocobo's neck and a hand on her beak, he guided Daphne back to her stall while the chicks tottered after them on their gangly legs.

"That's it, that's a good bird. In ya go."

With a grunt, Rude shoved Blanco's head into position near the legs, completing the guise of a curled-up, snoozing chocobo. Now to hide himself. Lacking options, he plunged into the straw behind the bird. The musty smell of hay tickling his nose was overwhelming, but with a bit of luck, the bedding combined with the animal's bulk would be enough to keep him concealed in the dim light.

Rude heard the adjacent door close and latch. Seconds later, Reno dove over the wall into Blanco's stall, just as the stable's side door creaked open. The scattered warks that greeted the newcomer were enough to mask the sounds of the redhead scuttling into cover.

After a tour of the other end of the stable, the footsteps came to a halt by the female chocobo's stall.

"What's got you all worked up, Daphne? Is it the funky smell?" A yawn, followed by a patting sound and a quiet wark. "Don't worry, girl. Got a storm coming, that's all."

Reno was pressed flat against the wall of the stall, right next to the door. Rude could see the mag rod in his hand, drawn but not extended. He wondered what materia the other Turk had equipped. A Sleep spell at the last second could save a situation about to go wrong.

The farmer moved again, stopping by Blanco's stall. From his limited vantage point, Rude could see a weather-worn face peer in. He mentally urged the man to move on, before the itchy straw poking his scalp became unbearable.

The farmer leaned forward, resting his elbows on the top of the door, staring at the white chocobo's still form. Rude held his breath, his mouth dry and his blood thundering in his ears. The man was practically looming over Reno. If the farmer glanced down, he would immediately see what had spooked his birds.

With a satisfied grunt, the farmer straightened up and continued his round. As his footsteps grew distant, Reno flashed a grin, holding up a thumb. Despite the mad hammering in his chest – or perhaps because of it – Rude found himself grinning back.

The stable door creaked open, then closed. Once the farmer's footsteps were beyond hearing range, Reno hopped up and dusted himself off nonchalantly.

"See? Told ya we got this. You worry too much, partner."

Rude just sighed, shaking his head as he pushed himself out of the straw.

"Right," Reno continued, planting his fists on his hips and aiming a scornful look at Blanco. "Let's get Birdbrain to the truck and get the hell outta here already."

Rude could not agree more.

The redhead looked down again, a slight frown appearing on his face as he cocked his head to the side.

"Bastard's been out cold for a while. Wonder how long that'll last?" he mumbled to himself, then shot Rude a grin. "Think we should cuff him?"

The bald man responded with a snort.

With the other Turk's aid, Rude recreated his earlier efforts with the rope. Within a few minutes, they were hauling the chocobo across the stable once more, sharing the burden this time. While Rude looked for something to brace the door open, Reno took the chance to stop by Daphne's stall, leaning over the door to peer in.

"Bye, Mama Bird. Sorry for ruinin' your night, yo."

The chocobo padded up to the door and lowered her head with a quiet wark, bringing it level with Reno's.

"Who's a pretty bird, huh?" he mumbled, stroking her beak.

Daphne cooed and gently bumped her head into his hand. He smiled.

"Yeah, that's right."

"Reno," Rude called.

The redhead sighed and nodded, patting her head one last time. "Gotta go, pretty bird. Keep yourself outta trouble, eh?"

As he closed the stable doors behind them, a single plaintive wark sounded inside.

While dragging a giant unconscious bird across a flat surface had been work enough, repeating the feat in uneven terrain proved exponentially worse. By the time they reached the truck, the back of Rude's shirt was soaked with sweat.

"Friggin' finally," Reno groaned, flexing his stiff fingers. "I think my arms are fallin' off."

Rude just grunted, too exhausted to form words.

"Let's get some more light before we try chuckin' Birdbrain in the back. Gimme the keys, will ya?"

Even Reno's seemingly boundless reserves of energy had run low, judging by the way he dragged his feet to the cab of the truck. Rude leaned back against the vehicle for a breather, closing his eyes. They were almost done now. Just one last push and they would be on their way home, their ridiculous mission a success after all.

The truck rumbled to life for a few seconds, signaling the end of his brief break. With a sigh, Rude pushed himself away from the vehicle and opened his eyes to look at the lumpy pile of white feathers.

The chocobo stared back. Two beady eyes glittered in the truck's rear lights, glowing red as if the creature was the infernal spawn of Ifrit himself.

Rude's mouth fell open. The animal kicked, catching him in the side and slamming him into the back the truck. He crumpled to the ground, gasping for air, while the bird struggled to its feet. Reno came running seconds later, only to be barreled down by the hell chocobo stampeding toward freedom.

"Ah, fuck!"

He heard a body hit the ground hard, followed by footsteps rapidly receding. Rude peered into the darkness, but the truck's lights left him blind to everything beyond their glare. He tried to move, but crippling pain flashed through his side. He grunted and went still, assessing his situation. The bird's kick had done a real number on his ribs. Rude was fairly certain he could get up, but it would hurt. A lot.

The kid was still quiet. That couldn't be a good sign. Rude had only received a half-hearted kick, but Reno had felt the full force of Blanco's avian wrath.

"Reno," Rude wheezed.

The night remained deathly quiet. After a minute, a few cicadas dared to continue their interrupted concert, but Rude heard not a peep from the other Turk.

"Reno!"

An outdrawn groan sounded from the darkness.

"Oh jeez... Fuckin'  _ow_."

Rude let his eyes fall shut and released his breath.

"You okay?"

"Yeah... I think. 'Cept for blackin' out for a bit... Feels like I just got hit by a fuckin' express train... You?"

"Not really. Cracked ribs. Broken, maybe."

"Hang on. I got somethin' for that. Ah shit, where'd my mag rod go? Gotta get a strap for it or somethin'..."

Rude heard Reno shuffle around in the darkness, until the younger man voiced a triumphant "aha!" Soon after, he felt a tingling sensation envelop his body, growing warm as the redhead's healing magic focused on his injured side. The pain abated and his breaths began to flow easier.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it, buddy."

He opened his eyes when he felt something brush against his arm, although he didn't need his vision to know who it was. The eye-watering whiff of ozone and chocobo manure was unmistakable. Reno had taken a seat next to him, slumped back against the truck. The younger Turk's suit was even dirtier now and torn in several places. The same could be said for the man himself, his pale skin marred by smudges and scrapes. Rude suspected his own appearance was no better.

Reno kept his eyes aimed forward in a weary daze. Unable to come up with any better alternatives, Rude followed his lead. Together, they stared at the moon, now so low in the sky that the hill below slightly eclipsed it.

"Grasslands, man," Reno said. "Fuckin' Grasslands."

Rude had nothing to add to that.

A breeze caressed his brow and rustled the longer grass. A wisp of a cloud passed across the moon.

"I'm thinkin'..." The redhead paused for a moment, pursing his lips. "I'm thinking we oughta tell Veld that when we got here, the bird was gone."

"Think he'll buy it?"

"Nah, 'course not, but it'll give him some bullshit to feed old man Shinra. Better than another docked paycheck, yo."

Rude grunted his agreement. Another minute or two passed in silence.

"Guess we should've cuffed him," he added.

Reno snorted.

"Was that a joke, Baldy?"

"Maybe," Rude deadpanned. "Scruffy."

That earned him a snicker.

"No nicknames, huh?"

"No."

"Eh, whatever. Cue Ball."

"Twig."

This time, Reno chortled until he ran out of air. Much to his surprise, Rude felt a smile tug at his own lips. The mission may have failed, his career may have just gone down the drain, and he may be facing several hours in a truck with a guy smeared in bird poo; yet right now, none of that seemed to matter much.

"Hey, Rude?"

He glanced at Reno, turning his head just enough to make it clear he was listening.

"Twenty gil says old man Shinra buys it if I tell him a dragon flew off with Birdbrain."

The almost-smile on Rude's face turned into a quiet laugh as he imagined the look on the President's face. Then he thought of a squawking, flailing Blanco, sailing through the air in the clutches of a dragon, and it was impossible to stifle the full-blown guffaw that followed. Soon, two sets of laughter rang out in the night, drowning out the cicadas.

In the distance, a dark shape crested the top of the hill, silhouetted against the full moon. It spread its wings and raised its head, stretching to its full, majestic height. The haunting echo of a single wark rolled across the plains, and then the creature disappeared, never to be seen again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Special thanks to Mr. Stompy for helping me wrangle the English language and to fellow fic-writer U for the irresistibly puntastic title.


End file.
